You Feed the Madness
by justrumbelledearie
Summary: Set post-'Witch Hunt.' In a drafty, enchanted castle, in a lonely, pink house, in a dank root cellar—Belle has always been his caretaker.


"He will ask for your name, Belle. Do not give it. He may try to make a deal with you. _Do not make one._ And at all times, wear this."

Charming holds out a jewel encrusted veil. It shimmers and gleams in the dancing firelight. Nearby, dwarfs sharpen their swords, Red doffs her ruby cloak, and Regina lifts her bare arms toward the pale moon, rehearsing a protection spell.

"What is it for?" Belle asks, taking the veil from his hands and holding it up for inspection.

"The Blue Fairy says it will allow you to come and go unobserved by the Dark One. _Unobserved—_though probably not undetected. Move quietly, and do not speak. While you wear this veil, you are invisible to him, and he will soon lose interest in trying to frighten you."

"Not _'the Dark One,'_ David_," _she says, fingering the diaphanous material. It crackles and glimmers with restless, unspent magic._"Rumplestiltskin._ The man who saved our lives."

_"No,_ Belle. That's where you are wrong," Charming rakes a hand through his sandy hair, making it stand on end. "Blue questioned him extensively this morning. That part of him—the man you loved, the man who gave his life for us—is gone. What is leftover…_God,_ I'm sorry, you shouldn't have to see him like this…"

"Every capable pair of hands is fighting tonight, David. I cannot wield a sword nor aim a crossbow, but I am surely strong enough for _this."_Belle fastens the veil firmly in place with its delicate, jeweled combs, and promptly disappears from sight. _  
_

Whatever state Rumple is in, however dangerous, however far gone, she will not let this opportunity to see him slip away. If David, Regina, and the rest cannot carry the night, it may very well be the last time. She _must_ see him, if only to bid him a silent farewell._  
_

Anyhow, no one has brought him a meal since the Blue Fairy took him his last meager portion of porridge and milky tea. Apparently, he gobbled it up with his teeth and tongue, snarling at her all the while.

If Rumple possesses any useful intelligence about the witch, he either couldn't or wouldn't give it. Not to Blue.

Charming passes a weary hand over his face. "We don't know what the witch has commanded him to do—to us, to his family, to _you. _You must ignore him, Belle. That's the safest thing. Bring him his food, his water, his change of hay. See that he's comfortable. Stay silent. I know you'll do well."

"And I'll be praying for your safety, David." She reaches out to grasp his arm, both for reassurance and also so that he knows where to direct his gaze. "Is Snow already with the children?"

"Yes, heavily barricaded inside the library. After you've seen to his supper, bring the veil with you to the library apartment's back entrance, and knock three times. They'll let you in. This invisibility enchantment could save a young life if all doesn't go according to plan…"

They both look off into the distance. The night sky glows green near the town line. This battle won't wait for goodbyes.

"Go now and good luck," Belle says, releasing his arm. She turns to the yawning cellar entrance—nothing more than a hole in the ground. Waiting nearby is a tray of food and a thermos of plain, warm water—all that Granny could spare under the embattled circumstances.

Belle drags in a deep breath, picks up the serving platter, and kicks her shoes off onto the damp grass. They reappear instantly: dainty, colorful, and highly impractical. The very sort Rumple used to tease her about in the Dark Castle.

_You haven't fashioned me any new ones yet, so I've begun to suspect you rather like them,_ she had needled, and he had looked away with a disconcerted _'hmmm'_ and charmingly pursed lips.

Her bare foot doesn't make a sound on the first wooden step, but the second stair creaks loudly, and shortly thereafter she can hear a far off, frantic rustling: Rumplestiltskin is awake.

Halfway down, all Belle can see is the wire cage.

It's small and solidly built, six feet by ten feet, if that, with straw scattered across the floor beneath. Toppled on its side is a three-legged stool, and shoved off into a far corner is a battered, wooden spinning wheel.

Rumple squats nearby on his haunches, pretending to spin, feeding bent pieces of straw into the motionless flier. They tumble to the floor near the spinning wheel's bench.

He has amassed quite a pile.

Sometimes he pauses to lick the straw before letting it fall, and he grins when he does this: a vacant, feral smile.

His tongue darts out to wet the piece of straw he is currently holding, and from the lesser distance of the cage door, Belle sees that his poor mouth is scratched and raw.

Much louder than she intends, Belle sets the serving tray down next to the open meal slot on the floor. It appears abruptly, with a clatter, seemingly out of thin air.

It takes every last scrap of self control she possesses not to call out to him and tell him that he is _safe,_ she is _here._

He is up on his feet in a heartbeat, rocking back on his tiptoes and sniffing the cellar air with angry, flared nostrils. He flashing eyes alight on the food and the thermos.

"Red meat—bloody, red meat and pretty tricks," he mutters, then scuttles quickly closer to stare at the tray.

Belle has brought the best she could find from Granny's depleted freezer: a warmed hamburger patty on a stale sesame bun, chocolate cream pie—frozen and leftover from the previous Miner's Day festival—and several flattened dinner rolls.

"Made from scratch," Granny had huffed, "even if I do reheat them in the oven."

Rumple glances around, his movements quick as a bird's and his rolling eyes unfocused.

"Who has come knock-knock-knocking? Who has come to call?"

He giggles, cocking his dirty head to one side, listening to whispers only he can hear.

"You really should have phoned first. The place is _filthy."_

He snatches his hamburger and walks backwards with it until his shoulder blades hit the furthermost wall of the cage. Sliding back down upon his haunches, Rumple begins to gnaw on his prize, closing his eyes and humming tunelessly.

He must be _very_ hungry—or perhaps just disinhibited.

He has never been one to wolf down his meals. Even when they first met, and he seemed damned determined to be as loathsome as possible, Rumplestiltskin has always held onto his table manners, and he has always kept himself tidy.

Knowledge of this would devastate him.

Bits of dried porridge cling to his unshaven cheeks, and his hair is in a greasy, wild tangle. His shirt is half-undone, and somehow he's managed to lose a shoe. Rumple, who was always so fastidious about his appearance, even when he chose to play the fearsome beast, is dirty and unkempt.

Strangely, the greater depravity of caging him and bending him into a blunt magical instrument is momentarily overshadowed by these petty cruelties. Why leave him filthy when a simple swipe of magic would fix the mess? Why not give him a comb for his snarled hair? What harm could it possibly do? Why rob him of his dignity, too?

The tight, burning knot in Belle's throat threatens to erupt into sobs, so she sinks her teeth deep into her lower lip, forces her eyes to water but not overflow, and concentrates on staying silent.

After a long moment, Belle crouches down to his level and sits upon her knees. She edges the nearly-thawed chocolate pie closer through the meal slot.

He scrambles toward it on all fours, but then surprises her by snatching up the ceramic plate and suddenly flinging it at her. It strikes the wire and falls to the cement floor, shattering. Bits of the gooey chocolate filling and butter crust cling to her skirt.

Belle brushes at them frantically. Now he knows where she sits.

"What…is…your…name?" He's gripping the sturdy wire now, his dirty forehead pressed against it. Chocolate cream drips down.

"Shall I guess? Shall I guess?" He licks his lips and cackles. "A guessing game, how I love a guessing game…"

And she cannot stop herself, not with his dear face so near, so contorted and wild.

Belle reaches out her hand before she can think better of it and brushes a bit of the dried porridge from his cheek.

Rumple hisses and jerks his head out of reach, but before she can withdraw her foolhardy hand, it is trapped in a vise grip, and her arm has been hauled all the way into the cage.

His arched eyebrows fly together, and he sniffs at her captive, outstretched forearm, his nostrils flaring.

He growls low in his throat.

His tongue darts out to touch her pulse point.

Hardly daring to breathe, Belle stretches her other hand through the wire and carefully smooths his wild hair.

Rumple's face is suddenly very near to hers. His eyes are wide and wild.

_"What is your name?"_ he asks for the second time. His teeth are sharp and white and very much on display. She continues to gently stroke and straighten his tangled hair, and his eyes slowly flicker shut. He rests his forehead against the wire.

He sighs, and his grip loosens, and she is able to work her other arm free.

Belle turns the thermos on its side and rolls it into the cage. He is still transfixed, resting there against the wire.

Belle reaches for three pieces of straw and arranges them in front of the meal slot: the letter _"H."_

Another four pieces of straw: the letter _"O."_

Followed by a _"P"_ and an _"E."_

He stares at the crudely constructed word and makes a softly quizzical popping sound with his scratched lips. His hand darts out through the meal slot, and he traces the straw letters over and over with a trembling fingertip.

The Blue Fairy is right: he _isn't_ safe like this, and God knows what would happen if she found a way to open the cage, but—_the man she loves is still alive._ Belle knows this with certainty now.

She's close to tears again, watching the jerky movements of his hand, and this enchanted veil is needed elsewhere. It will conceal and save Grace or Henry or perhaps Mary Margaret and her unborn child from the witch should it come to that. Everything Belle has touched disappeared along with her, so perhaps it can even hide all of them.

_She has to go._

But standing on the bottom step, watching him quiver and blink and sniff at the air, Belle cannot stay silent.

Preparing herself to flee, she leans over the wooden railing and calls out clearly: "I'm coming back, Rumple!"

As she turns to run up the steps, the cellar erupts in plaintive wailing, and Belle hears the resounding thuds of her True Love throwing himself against the walls of his cage.


End file.
